


In the Arms of Death, maybe I'll Dream of You

by thefrenchmistake



Series: And the World is Killing Us Both [1]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Rare Pairings, Season/Series 03, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrenchmistake/pseuds/thefrenchmistake
Summary: And it’s rough (always) because they can’t allow themselves to be tender, to be warm when the world is chipping away at their edges a little more each day, so they need to sharpen themselves and that’s how they chose to do it.
Relationships: Alicia Clark & Madison Clark, Alicia Clark/Troy Otto
Series: And the World is Killing Us Both [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616434
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	In the Arms of Death, maybe I'll Dream of You

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, really unpopular ship but honestly, I am completely in love with Daniel Sharman and Troy and Alicia are just physically perfect together; once I got it in my head, I couldn't get it out. Just to be clear, Troy's character is awful but honestly I craved his redemption so much and I was so disappointed by his death, because he was one of the most interesting characters on the show.  
> So, sorry but not ashamed !  
> Enjoy !

He had a dream, once; it might have been a nightmare, he doesn’t quite remember.

What he remembers though, is the simplicity of it. There was a sun that didn’t burn his skin and endanger his life; there was calm water, smooth, before him. He was sitting on a beach, because he remembers stretching his arms and his hands coming up with sand instead of a gun.

There was no bullet; there was no scream.

And he remembers the feeling of the sun on his face, the peacefulness of it all. His eyes shut, he hadn’t even reacted as someone disturbed him, because oddly, he wasn’t feeling endangered.

When he had opened his eyes and turned his head, a smile was bright on his lips and Alicia smiled back.

Her hand, full of sand and not blood, had taken his.

He remembers this dream vividly, because Alicia was not a person he often had in mind (always on his far periphery, sure, but never in mind, never worried about her or wishing for her company). And this dream had given him, in a way, everything he wanted.

And maybe it was wrong, but since then, he couldn’t get her out of his mind; he couldn’t let go of the feeling he had had, this peace he yearned for.

Sometimes his eyes, against all his might, couldn’t tear away from her silhouette as she walked away with disgust in her features and revenge in her fists. But Troy isn’t a good man, and so one time he just grabbed her wrist in the middle of yet another argument and pulled her in so he could finally, finally taste her lips.

To his tremendous surprise, she kissed him back.

And it’s rough (always) because they can’t allow themselves to be tender, to be warm when the world is chipping away at their edges a little more each day, so they need to sharpen themselves and that’s how they chose to do it.

It’s rough, and it’s fire and it’s cold sometimes, when one shudders against the other and tears get brought to their eyes unwillingly, when Troy intertwines their fingers as he kisses her and she buries her other hand in his hair not to pull but to press him closer.

It gets a little sad, a little dangerous, when they slip unconsciously towards something warmer and less expected, uncontrolled.

It gets scary.

They don’t stop though.

And when the hammer comes surging down on the side of his head, right in his temple, it brings tremendous pain and he can’t help but think of her eyes and Troy is taken back to years ago, when the world wasn’t as fucked up as it is now.

He remembers, abruptly, a story a man told him once, before he laughed and walked off never to think about it again.

He thinks about it now.

A story of an ancient time, of a storm coming down a mountain and the villages getting wrecked in the havoc.

And, in the center of the storm, a girl with blue eyes who commanded it and told it to back down.

She killed the storm, and afterwards, when all was done, she was dead and smiling. The houses were destroyed, but the river flowed freely and flowers bloomed and the wind whispered in the damp trees. The earth smelled of a rebirth and the villagers were taken aback by the absolute, etheral beauty of it all, of Nature.

Beautiful Disaster, they called it. Before the world was burned down.

He thinks of her eyes, he thinks of her lips against his when no one could see, of her laugh in his ear when he said something that wasn’t funny but she tried to grasp at every little thing to find beauty in the world.

He thinks of the blood on her face and the dirt under her fingernails, and then blood is dripping down his own face. 

He thinks he's smiling. 

He can see her, he swears he can see her eyes - Beautiful Disaster.

Yeah.

That defined them quite perfectly.

Beautiful Disaster-

“ _You never thought of doing something else ?”_

_“Running away ?”_

_“That would be lonely.”_

_“Yeah, probably. Dying is easy, though.”_

_“You think ?”_

Beautiful Disaster— and the hammer comes down one more time, and the hit sends his brains right back to the bed he left that morning, with the girl in his arms who believed, against all odds, he could change; and the car he drove while her brother laughed and punched him in the arm. Maybe, if that’s dying, maybe it’s not so bad. The girl was smiling, after all. 

Beautiful Disaster— his body falls and his mind blanks out.

*******************

It’s not love, doesn’t even come close to it, but maybe it’s deeper.

It’s dark, and worrying; dangerous.

Because their lives aren’t about love, aren’t about friendship or family (not anymore); they’re about fear, about pain, screams, and above all, they’re about heartbreak (what a small word, for such great sorrow, for when they feel their organs ripped out of their bodies).

She wonders if he can see the cracks in the armor she wears every day, as to not get stomped on again, to not get left behind.

She wants to say “See, I’m not broken, I’m still standing, so leave and break and die, do your worst, I’ll still stand here”.

Maybe that’s why she chose him, because she’s not afraid of him leaving or dying.

She’s not afraid, she convinces herself even as she presses her lips harder against his; she’s not afraid, she thinks when he smiles at her from the other side of the room (it’s a little dark and twisted, and her stomach churns); she’s not afraid, she states when he brings her naked body closer to his with an arm around her waist and breathes her in; she’s not afraid, she screams when they get into a fight so bad the whole world can hear them scream.

She’s not afraid, she repeats like a mantra but his eyes are warm even when his words are cold, and sometimes he kisses her like something might go right in their life.

But she isn’t afraid, and she is right not to be.

Because when her mom tells her she bashed his head in with a fucking hammer and left him with a hole in his head, Alicia doesn’t say anything, merely nods.

She was right, not to be afraid, not to get too close, because otherwise she would be down on her knees and howling at the world - the tears shed in the silence of the night don’t count, neither do the sobs that she restrains between her ribs- and Nick looks at her sometimes like he knows, but he doesn’t, because there is nothing to know.

Troy Otto was always meant to be a monster and die like one.

And if she had let herself believe, for some time, she could make him better, she could be enough, well that’s her rotten secret. And if she thinks of him sometimes, now, thinks of the odd kindness in his eyes and in his touch when no one was around, and considers all of it a failure, well no one can blame her more than she blames herself.


End file.
